


Tell Me What Were We Meant To Be

by Purpleyin



Series: Flash fanworks [33]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elementary (TV) Fusion, CSI Barry Allen, Disabled Character, Disabled Harrison Wells, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Other characters make brief appearances, POV Barry Allen, Past Ronnie Raymond/Caitlin Snow, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 20:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18239687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleyin/pseuds/Purpleyin
Summary: Elementary AU. Light angst with a happy ending.When he meets Caitlin Snow, she is hunched over a microscope in Harrison Wells' living room, a makeshift lab setup sprawled across several sturdy tables. She barely pays any attention as he lets himself in like the post-it on the front door had told him to. That first meeting shouldn't make him want to know someone like her but it does.





	Tell Me What Were We Meant To Be

**Author's Note:**

> Started for Snowbarry Week 2018 and it's taken me a while to get it finished. Using the prompt 'day 1: private investigator(s) / noir / crime / mystery' - I went with a private investigator AU that is loosely inspired by the show Elementary. Harrison Wells is basically Sherlock Holmes (but nope, not calling him Sherloque here).
> 
> Thanks to [shyesplease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyesplease/pseuds/shyesplease) and [Dwynn_5002](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dwynn_5002) for betareading.

 

When he meets Caitlin Snow, she is hunched over a microscope in Harrison Wells' living room, a makeshift lab setup sprawled across several sturdy tables. She barely pays any attention as he lets himself in like the post-it on the front door had told him to. It's only when he stumbles over a pile of books by the couch, fumbling to stop them sliding everywhere, that she recognizes his presence.

“Urine samples go over there,” she says briskly, pointing to a side table already half-covered in sample pots.

“Uh...I'm not here for that?” he answers, confused, second-guessing if he's in the right place. He's been helping Wells out online for months as one of his newer irregulars but actually getting to visit his residence to present his mom's case to him in person is a massive deal – he'd checked the address twice before leaving work, so he doesn't think he's got it wrong. His sense of direction is perfectly fine, even if his sense of timing is permanently off.

He doesn't know what to say when he's met with this brusque woman rather than the infamous detective he's read about and is expecting. Thinking back on all the very-to-the-point email correspondences Barry has had with Wells - that get returned at odd hours, indicating as unorthodox a schedule as his methods are rumored to be - he possibly shouldn't be surprised Wells isn't there to greet him.

The woman looks up finally, squinting at him like he's an inconvenience. By the way her gaze rakes over him with a chilly expression he thinks she's _assessing_ him.

“I'm Barry Allen.” He smiles as he steps forward, holding out his hand, but she doesn't comply with the expected response. She crosses her arms over her chest. She clearly isn't impressed, so he adds more in the hopes of being viewed as serious due to his profession if not his manner, “Barry Allen, NCPD, specialist in forensics.”

“He's through the parlor, down the stairs to the left, in the basement office,” she replies curtly, pleasantries not returned. Barry frowns a little but there's some relief mixed in that she's at least told him where to go - Wells is who he is here to see and that's all he really needs to know. “Now, _please_ leave me alone - unless you want to be responsible for a man's death.”  


* * *

 

That first meeting shouldn't make him want to know someone like her. It shouldn't. She was downright rude. But he finds himself curious about her after what else he hears from Wells' other protege, Cisco Ramon. The way Cisco talks about Caitlin Snow is affectionate and Barry overhears him teasingly snarking at her over their internal comms system whenever Barry visits, a conversation he hears just the one side of, his brain trying to fill in the other side of it with what he knows about her and failing. It's often enough to throw him off what Wells is talking about, much to Wells' displeasure. _Focus, Barry, focus_ , it probably the most uttered phrase whenever he is about.

Wells himself shows only the utmost respect for her talents and a certain subtle fondness creeping through his otherwise stern demeanor. Sometimes Barry wonders if she is trying too hard to be like Wells but he's not so sure that is the answer when Cisco seems perfectly capable of being favored by the man without directly imitating him. Wells prefers to put emotions aside, other than to examine them as motivation, but he is hardly scornful of Barry or Cisco's enthusiasm, so long as they still get results. Caitlin doesn't need to be so cold, so the question remains, why is she?

For every moment he feels like his warmth is infectious enough to melt her a little, there is always another push back – an equal and opposite reaction. One day she lets him call her Cait, same as Cisco already does, and he sees the slight smile forming at the nickname. It's a smile he sees her bite down on her lip to try to stop giving away how pleased she is, but he _does_ see it. Things like that make him feel hopeful he isn't imagining their connection. The problem is, those moments don't last. The next day she corrects him, not asking but telling him “It's Caitlin” and putting as much distance between them as she can.

Cisco had warned him she had a painful past - they all do around here, really. Barry has his mother's murderer to catch, a man that may very well be stalking him as well.

What Barry doesn't understand is: why she is so insistent half the time to keep specifically him at arm's length? Wells has a lot of associates, and though she's sometimes brusque when there are time constraints – like the first time he'd met her – she otherwise interacts in a more than civil manner with the others, conversing happily enough with Felicity and Linda and Eddie. Barry keeps on trying to be her friend, persistently including her in his conversations and looking out for her the best he can, reminding her to sleep at times, like she tends to with all of them when she gets into her doctoring mode. He tries to do this without stepping over the fluctuating boundaries she has, but it's hard at times. He still does it because it's right, because it's who _he_ is.

He doesn't like to admit he also does it because deep down he hates to see her hurting, however well masked it is. He wants to see her smile and to be the one to make her smile if he can. Seeing her light up like that is a small comfort that helps him just as much. He doesn't feel entirely safe out there in the world anymore, not even with Wells having him take sparring lessons from Oliver in case his stalker gets any ideas. When he's in the brownstone with Cisco and Caitlin and Wells, he feels better, supported, because they believe him about the two cases being related. And they don't just want to help him, they want to help him help himself. Joking around with Cisco, breaking other cases with Wells, making Caitlin smile – those are how he can give back to them, make them feel better, feel supported in the same way, trying to pay a debt he probably won't ever be able to shake.

At least when she's on the outs with him, for whatever unexplained reason she has, he is comforted that she has Wells and Cisco. He doesn't like to ask himself why he tries so hard with her, whether this is him setting himself up to for disaster with another unattainable love. He doesn't let himself think of it like that. He knows he cares, but he won't examine how much, how it grows day on day, because he doesn't look at the big picture. Focusing on the small details, trying to figure out what it means in that moment, is his modus operandi.

There are so many mysteries Barry helps them solve in that house over the coming year, but Caitlin Snow remains one to him for the longest time.

 

* * *

  


The day Harrison Wells helps him catch his mother's murderer, the day that the process of freeing his father also starts, is the happiest day Barry has had in almost two decades. It makes him briefly sad to think he could've had this sooner, if only he'd known about Wells before he'd moved to National City, but he can't dwell on that. He _is_ happy. He has justice. His mother has as much justice as it is possible to get posthumously, and his father will have justice just as soon as the bureaucratic process catches up with the newly exposed reality.

When they return to the brownstone, there are elated cheers for the victory, well received with grace by Wells as if it was inevitable to solve the 17-year-old case that had stumped Barry for so long when he was alone in the struggle. Harrison mumbles something about fetching a vintage of champagne, that Barry is fairly sure costs an obscene amount of money, and promptly disappears in good time to miss Cisco clapping Barry on the back before he envelops him in a bear hug.

“So proud of you, man. How does it feel?”

He wants to tell Cisco what he asks, to babble about the emotions swimming around in his head, because Cisco is always good to talk to about anything and everything, but nothing comes out – it's too much at once. It's like it all has slammed into him suddenly, how much is going to change after today. Barry's been fighting for the truth so long that he isn't sure what he will do now he doesn't have to.

And then he catches the motion in the background, Caitlin turning away, making to leave silently. She's quite sneaky when she wants to be - Wells having trained her well for stealth, their impromptu cat burglar - but she's rushing out and there's something in the way her mouth is set that has Barry concerned.

“I'll tell you later,” he says to a bemused Cisco as he hastily follows Caitlin through the house, out to the backyard, where he sees her lean with her hands against the fence, like she's bracing herself. As he gets closer, he hears a stifled sob and freezes up, no idea how she is going to react to him, if it was actually a good idea to come find her.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks quietly, wishing he could wrap his arms around her but resisting the urge.

“No! Yes...I mean - I'm sorry, I don't mean to rain on your parade. I'm happy for you, I am.”

She turns her back to him and he can make out her wiping away her tears with the back of her hand as she speaks.

“Good to know, but...there's a 'but' there. _You're_ not happy, are you?” She doesn't reply and he worries he's overstepped. “Should I go get Cisco?”

“I am happy for you. I'm just...I didn't get that. I've worked with Wells for years and still, we haven't solved my case. _Cases_.”

“Cases? Like plural?“ he asks, a little wowed she has multiple cold cases.

Of course he knew about Ronnie, the broad strokes at least. A lot more was said about that in what Caitlin and Cisco didn't say - how they would sometimes trail off from a thought that started out so casual and natural. And there were topics Wells didn't broach when either of them were around, an unusual level of sensitivity for him so Barry couldn't help but notice it.

“I came to Wells about my fiance, _ex-_ fiance now. He was an engineer. We met working on the same project, but he went missing, presumed dead. He wasn't the only one who disappeared. It could've been me too, or Cisco, but somehow we both escaped that fate.”

Barry doesn't say anything, sensing there is a whole lot more to this than grief and some survivor's guilt, especially since that only accounts for one case. His silence gives her room to fill with her own words that he's sure she needs; she can't possibly be done letting out what she's bottled up, nor mentioned for at least the year he's been around her.

“I gave up a promising bioengineering career to work with Harrison Wells. I needed to know what happened to Ronnie and Stein and the others, but we never found out. The government was involved somehow, and the trail went cold. I thought that was bad enough, but then I looked into my father's death when something my mother said didn't add up. Turns out he died under mysterious circumstances. Again, government involvement. And then when I thought it couldn't get worse, I found out my twin sister – a sister I didn't even know I had - disappeared a few years before that and my dad might've had something to do with it. I didn't remember **any** of it, I blocked it out. Another case, something Cisco said, triggered a flashback. I wish it hadn't. I'll probably _never_ know what happened. The great Harrison Wells couldn't solve those. _I_ couldn't solve those, and then there's you, with your own impossible case, solved, just like that, with his help.”

“I...I didn't know,” Barry replies, wishing he knew what else to say but aware nothing could possibly make any of it better. He doesn't have the answers she needs after all. The best he can do was listen. ”That's all - that's... a lot. No wonder you're -”

“Cold? Distant?” she snarks back at him, a hardness there that seems to imply she's been called that before, determined to be ready this time.

“I was gonna say, sad.”

Caitlin looks chided at his choice of words, being more sympathetic than she apparently had given him credit for. She crosses most of the distance between them and slumps down to sit on the back steps, some sort of defeat in how she deflates, but he takes her moving closer to be a good sign. He still hovers in the doorway, wary of crowding her.

“When I heard the news this morning, do you know what the first thing I thought was? Is there any mystery Barry Allen can't solve? I felt bitter, I was jealous. You keep being nice to me, but I'm not a good friend.”

“It's okay to be upset, Cait. You're allowed to be. Our lives are...complicated. It makes sense how you feel is complicated too. I don't blame you for wanting to get what I have too.”

She peers at him over her shoulder, a mournful look back at him, and he feels like she's seeing him for the first time. He doesn't like how that's tied to so much sadness, he doesn't want her guilt or her regret, he just wants her to find some peace like he had, some chance at happiness. She turns away again and he sees her wringing her hands in her lap as she continues, it's almost like she's thinking out loud, much more stream of consciousness than he's used to from her. Now she's opened up, it's like a floodgate has lifted and everything is coming out at once.

“But it _doesn't_ help anyone to get so worked up. It won't help Ronnie, or my dad, or my sister. It's easier when I don't let myself feel.”

“You know what the problem is with that, don't you?” Barry works up to approaching her finally, sitting down next to her on the steps, a small flitting feeling of relief when she doesn't edge away from him. “When you lock all the bad feelings away like that, you have to lock all the good ones away too. You miss out on happiness. Would they want that for you?”

“No.”

Caitlin is quiet again, pensive, and he dearly hopes she is taking his words to heart. The silence gives him time to think too, to figure out maybe it's time to open up a little more himself. He's plenty open about his everyday, but he hasn't ever shared with her why he came to Wells, how he ended up in a position not unlike hers.

“You know I didn't solve this immediately, it took most of my life a _nd_ Wells' help to catch this guy. I spent a lot of time being angry, obsessing over the past. It wasn't until I came here that I saw what it was doing to me, because I saw it in every desperate client with a cold case. Even before we got anywhere close to solving my mom's murder, I'd started looking to the future, moving on. Solving her case gave me closure, but I think I'd have gotten there without it, eventually, because it was never just about catching Thawne - I couldn't let go. Turns out I'm kinda bad at that. In fact, there is another mystery I haven't solved yet, that I'm hoping I still can, in time.”

Her wide eyes glance to him, still a little tearful but curious too.

“What's that?”

Barry pauses, taking a deep breath and feeling like he's about to plunge himself into a sink or swim situation. He's been holding back for a long time and he'd really like to get _at least_ a vibe about how Caitlin feels. Something needs to be done or he'll probably spend another year waiting for a good moment and flaking out.

“There's a certain someone I...I care about, a lot, who I think cares about me too, but I could, uh, be mistaken. She usually won't let me show her how much I care. No matter what angle I look at it from, I'm stumped.”

“Really?” Caitlin questions, acting like she's surprised, though he doesn't know if that's because he doesn't know what to do or because she understands what he's implying and is surprised he cares like that at all. He thinks she knows what he's not so subtly alluding to, but she could be oblivious or purposefully ignoring it – he just doesn't know her well enough yet to be able to tell.

“Maybe I should call it a day. Maybe she doesn't want me to make an effort. Maybe it's the wrong time. What do you think?”

Caitlin bites her lip, looking elsewhere as she thinks. At least he _hopes_ it's because she's carefully considering the problem of his and not avoiding his gaze. It takes her a lot longer to answer him than he might expect. Finally, she replies, voice sounding odd to him – it isn't clipped or brusque like she had once been. Instead, it is uncertain, lacking the conviction she usually speaks with.

“I think you might be, possibly, hypothetically, giving up too soon. There's probably lots of other angles you could try, once you think about it. Besides, you wouldn't be like the Barry Allen I've come to know and... It wouldn't be like you to give up, not if you really think she cares too.”

He's sure his brow is furrowed at this point, but he tries to consciously limit showing his confusion as his brain works to untangle what she's saying. It doesn't take him that long to accept he can't figure out what to make of any of her behavior. There simply is no knowing without asking directly and he isn't there yet. _They_ aren't there yet, if they ever will be.

“I'll take that under advisement then,” he replies, aiming for amicable and more upbeat than he currently is. The words come out wavering and a little weaker than intended, but Caitlin says nothing of it. He relaxes somewhat once that worrisome moment passes with no questioning of his sincerity. Barry breathes easier again, knowing the conversation, and all the fear it inspires in him, is laid to rest for the time being.

They sit companionably on the steps for a while after that, listening to the background lull of the city noises. Barry wants to put an arm around her shoulder, be comforting, but he doesn't because he isn't so sure who that comfort would be for exactly.

 

* * *

  


There's a change in Caitlin after that. He doesn't notice it at first, distracted as he is by his dad's appeal and the tackling the associated press storm, but he has a sense of a difference that he becomes aware of: Caitlin reaches out to him.

He misses it at first because she emails him about cases as she would normally, but he eventually recognizes that the emails are longer, friendlier in tone, and she slips into emailing him about scientific studies regardless of the cases he consults on. Over time, she loses that distance she often had, and it warms him to have her so consistently think of him, to include him in her life instead of just her work.

She starts signing her emails with “Cait,” and he takes that as a sign he can call her Cait without risking rejection like in the past. It's a small step but one that brings true hope. Every time he gets to use her nickname, it reminds him of how much closer they've become. Even so, he never expects more, he doesn't like to push his luck. But he does start sending her emails that are more casual - about his day, linking her to inconsequential pictures he uploads online in the hopes she wants to know more about his life. Somehow that ends up with her IMing him, sending both her own dorky snaps of her experiments and ones of Wells' baffling cooking choices. Barry finds out how Harrison inflicts his nutritional experiments upon his proteges frequently, and honestly, it baffles him why he hadn't heard about it before from Cisco. There's got to be some good stories he's missed out on and Cait isn't budging on the particulars, nor is she the best storyteller to be fair. All he gets from her are the mysterious photos of the concoctions, for which he sends sympathetic emojis in response.

_**LateButGreat89 - How come you never told me Wells cooks?** _

_ShootFirstGeekLater – That's one of his best-kept secrets. How did you find out?_

_**LateButGreat89 - Cait told me. No changing the subject. Spill. I wanna know what the weirdest thing he's made you eat is.** _

_ShootFirstGeekLater - No changing the subject? When did 'Cait' tell you? Don't think I don't notice what's going on with you two lovebirds._

Barry feels his stomach clench uncomfortably as he reads Cisco's message. His fingers hover over the onscreen keyboard and he has no idea what he should say. He wants to ask Cisco what he means by that, but he knows exactly what Cisco is implying. He can't say Cisco is wrong about his feelings, but he'd hoped he wasn't quite that obvious.

What he wants to know is why Cisco thinks Cait feels the same way. They're closer, sure, but close doesn't have to mean she wants to be with Barry and he can't let himself hope for that - friends is good if friends is what he's got. He never responds to Cisco's question, and Barry doesn't bother bringing up the topic of Wells' cooking again, lest it bring back Cisco's implications. Somehow Cisco lets that drop, but Barry becomes increasingly self-conscious around Caitlin when anyone else is there. Wells isn't quite as tactful it turns out.

 

* * *

  


Wells steeples his hands together, taking several seconds pause before he starts the conversation that appears to be rather more formal than Barry had suspected, despite the casual setting. Between that pause and Wells' first wheeling around to very deliberately face Barry front on when he greeted him coming into the kitchen, Barry knows something is up. Something non-standard is happening. He has Wells full attention, a rarity. Considering how to-the-point Well tends to be, the hesitation, however minimal it is, is unnerving. _What's so important Wells doesn't know how to address it right away?_

“Mr. Allen, as you may have worked out by now, I have a respect for you. A respect earned through consistently stellar work. A respect I'm sure you wish to retain.”

Barry swallows at this, more than a little confused at the mix of good with an implied bad he's unaware of the specifics for.

“Okay. Are you saying I might lose that, your respect, that is? What exactly am I doing wrong? If you tell me I'll-”

Wells jaw clenches in frustration and he simply puts a hand up. A signal for quiet in this house that has Barry cut off his rambling.

“It's what you're not doing.”

Wells is for once, not getting to the point as quickly as Barry is used to. The statement leaves him more confused and it must show on his face as Wells sighs and then elaborates.

“What you are not doing, with regard to Dr. Snow.”

“What do you mean? I. Er...” Barry stumbles over what to say - what he can admit out loud - and fails to figure out anything decent. Racing thoughts of what Wells might know already makes his throat feel tight. Amongst that is the alarming implication of what Wells might say to others - to Cait - when Wells is known to be inappropriate at times when it suits him.

“I need all of you focused. Neither you, nor Dr. Snow, have been particularly focused lately. Care to hazard a guess why?”

“Because it's Christmas soon? And lots of bad memories for people like us?”

Barry's actually rather proud of being able to give a coherent reply, but it's only the tiniest reprieve from the discussion they are trundling towards that he should know he can't stop happening.

“An astute guess Barry, one that would have been adequate last year. Not anymore. I'm disappointed, you can do better than a guess.”

Barry coughs, stalling, and trying to reign in his body's response, which is telling him to run far away. He doesn't like where this is going, because it is obvious Wells knows about how he feels. Is he going to insist Barry confess? Wells is not risk-averse, he likes things out in the open. If he knows about Barry's feelings it is surprising he hasn't said anything. He had opportunity earlier to that day to say something to Caitlin and him together. He could have exposed how Barry feels already but Barry's guessing goodwill has saved him from that scenario.

Wells sighs again at Barry's lack of response, pinches his nose briefly before he continues.

“You enjoy your time working with Dr. Snow, yes?”

“Of course.”

“It's no coincidence I assign you tasks how I have, how I ensure you work together as much as possible. You work well together. As ever, I wasn't wrong about that.”

Barry blushes a little, ducking his head. He had not actually noticed Wells doing so. It's a strange thought there, that Wells might've been setting them up in some way, even if accidentally.

“What it would behoove you to do, is to consider what steps you could take in the future to ensure you continue to move forward in an amicable manner.”

“You want me to ask Cait-” Barry begins replying, but then corrects himself, suddenly extra conscious of using her nickname in front of Wells, “-lin...out? Like on a date?”

Wells is suddenly smirking, smugness evident long before Barry knows exactly why.

“I think you've answered your question, Barry. You read into my statement what you wanted to read. Now, what you do with that is your business. Just don't take too long, the pining _will_ get tiresome, and I won't be held responsible for what I say once my patience runs out. Do bear that in mind. I'm sure you'd prefer to do things your own way.”

Wells doesn't wait for any response, merely gives a small nod that Barry returns out of habit, and then zooms his powerchair out of the room, moving onto more important things. Barry is left standing there in the middle of the kitchen, flabbergasted at the conversation, unable to take it all in quite so quickly as Wells has dealt with it. Already his stomach is twisting about, anxious at what he needs to do. If he doesn't tell Caitlin, Wells will. What does he want to do?  


* * *

 

There are many moments Barry _means_ to talk to Caitlin and doesn't. Wells seems to be trying to give him a helping hand, engineering a higher than normal chance of them being left alone, but growing less and less subtle with each intervention. Time is running out.

The latest attempt by Wells was going further than Barry could have predicted, ordering both Barry and Cait to carry a large painting down in his elevator – one that Wells assured them was priceless and, _actually_ by Francesco Hayez, not the fake it was assumed to be by others.

The elevator was normally reserved for Wells and _only_ Wells, being just big enough for him to reverse his wheelchair inside. Barry had been tempted to use it on occasion, but swift looks from Cisco or Caitlin always reminded him not to risk it. This rule appeared to be imposed to ensure Wells' rapid transit around the house without any annoying delays, though Barry had seen Cisco or Caitlin entrusted to accompany samples or fragile objects that needed stabilizing in it from time to time.

It had felt kind of weird to be ordered into the cramped space, him and Cait carrying opposite sides of the frame. Hidden behind the canvas, and holding something precious between them, Barry had seriously considered saying something quickly, but he really didn't want to give Wells the satisfaction. Of course, the painting wasn't exactly subtle, Barry's pretty sure the choice of subject – [The Kiss](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Kiss_%28Hayez%29) \- is no mistake.

What Barry settles for, as _some_ progress is made, is inviting her to their extended Christmas party at the bar popular with their precinct. Joe, Eddie, and Patty from work always go, as well as a few other cops Joe's begrudgingly fond of. Joe's kids, Wally and Iris – also Barry's best friend and nearly graduated from police academy - join them without fail, as well as Joe's new girlfriend Cecile making an appearance this year. Barry sort of cops out though. He invites Cisco too, treats it as nothing important, just your commonplace friends celebrating together.

It _is_ nice to have Cisco there, and probably overdue too because Cisco is practically family to him as well, but it isn't what he ought to have done. This isn't the invitation he was meant to ask Cait, the meaning behind it masked in the crowd. The whole point of his making an effort got lost the moment the words came out wrong and he toned his feelings down yet again to avoid startling her, afraid she'd turn away from him again.

Barry's nursing his second glass of eggnog when Cisco arrives. Iris and Linda are chatting animatedly to his right but all he's aware of is the jingle of the bell as the door opens and he pivots towards the sound, getting up from lazing on the edge of the booth, to find a Cisco appraising him. Barry sits back down abruptly in defeat, alarm raised for nothing. He looks back up to see Cisco arching an eyebrow and unraveling his Hufflepuff scarf as he approaches their position. There's a chorus of hellos from the rest of the group, but Barry's focus is back on his drink, unable to get into the spirit of things. Not even Cisco turning up can dispel his anxiety and he hasn't wanted to bring the others down with his mood. Cisco nudges him to move over, actually into the booth, so he can sit.

“Almost like you were waiting for someone else. Someone a little taller and more your type ”

“Hey, don't sell yourself short, Cisco.”

Barry tries to drum up some cheer for him and seems to succeed, based on the small smile it prompts Cisco to give him.

“Appreciate the confidence boost, but I think most of the people here know who you're waiting for.”

It's Barry's turn to be concerned. Surely not everyone knows? Joe's dropped enough hints disguised as wise advice that Barry knows he must know. Iris, yeah, no avoiding that considering how often, and _how_ he talks about Cait to her. And if Iris knows, so will Wally and Linda. At least Eddie and Patty shouldn't, although they are detectives...

“Please, you are not that smooth. The station has a betting pool on how long it's gonna take you to ask her out on a proper date, and not this pseudo friends date cop out. Pun not intended. Nice try though _and_ _**maybe**_ not all is lost.”

“What do you mean?” Barry asks in hushed tones that nevertheless come out louder than intended. “What are you saying? Come on, Cisco, what do you know that I don't?”

Cisco mimes that his lips are sealed and moves out of the booth to fill up on the special eggnog for their party. Barry follows, lacking words, and not wanting to talk about it in front of the others, but sending Cisco pleading looks. Cisco appears entirely too amused but says nothing more; shooing him away as he goes to chat up one of the beat cops, Cynthia, who is looking kind of stylish in leather, which Barry knows Cisco has a thing for.

At least he's not left hanging for too long since the next tinkle of the bell is followed by a hearty welcome for her. Barry can't take his eyes off her as she comes across to the party, but he doesn't want to be overeager. He counts to twenty in his head, making him pretty much the last person to greet her. He hopes it comes off as more nonchalant compared to how fast his heart is beating inside his chest, but unfortunately he's quick to undo any of that good work with what he blurts out.

“Hi. Hey, Cait...lin. It's great to see you. I mean, not that it isn't always great, just, you know, it's a party. So, yay!” he says with a tiny fist pump in the air. “And...I'm gonna go get a refill.”

He rushes off to get her an eggnog before it completely disappears and forget to get one for himself. Somehow he's inadvertently acting like he's on a date despite evidence to the contrary. Cait just smiles warmly and thanks him for the drink. He thinks he might be doing okay overall, until he spots out of the corner of his eye Iris throwing him a sympathetic look and Patty biting her lip in a familiar way, the habit she has to keep from giggling. Eddie is also suddenly very interested in the photo frame above the booth. Only Linda and Wally nearby remain rapt in their conversation rather than eavesdropping on his train wreck of one. He glances around the rest of the booth and catches onto the fact he's completely failing to be chill, judging by the collection of the looks people are giving him, rolling eyes and barely hidden smirks.

Returning his attention to Cait, she is putting her empty glass down with a determined bent.

“I think I need some air.”

Her statement makes him worried he's been over attentive, too obvious, already needing to escape his behavior, though he's soon reassured on that by her unexpected question.

“Join me?”

He doesn't trust himself to speak right then, so he nods with a smile, over-enthusiastically, but it's a natural limit on his propensity to put his foot in his mouth. He collects his coat and follows her outside. Nothing is said as they walk to the nearest stoop to sit down, folding the back of their coats underneath them carefully to protect against the chill. The silence draws out, growing tenser for Barry, even though he could sit there forever with Cait and be happy.

“I had an idea, for you. About your unsolved mystery,” Cait says, breaking the quiet with her suggestion. It takes Barry a moment to realize which mystery she is referencing and he can't think of what to say once he knows what she is talking about, the issue of them.

“I thought of a new angle it could be approached from.” Cait continues, sounding hesitant herself.

Barry swallows, unable to reply, captured by curiosity but also wary of what comes next. He watches the people on the street, applying Wells' method to figure out their secrets at the same time he fears his secret is about to come to a head.

“Maybe she was afraid. The person you cared about.”

“Could be,” he replies finally, hoping so dearly she means what he thinks she means. It's hard to let himself hope though. “I know fear makes us do a lot of things that we shouldn't.”

 _Like ask people out as a friend when you really want more._ And, in Cait's case, push him away. But she wasn't doing that now. She hadn't done that at all for months and months. They'd found an equilibrium which was exactly why he was so afraid to say anything and ruin what they had

“Sometimes it makes us not do things we should.”

“That too,” he agrees. He thinks he heard regret in her voice as she spoke but he shouldn't jump to conclusions without adequate proof.

“That wasn't the only angle I was thinking of, fear,” she says this firmly and he can sense her move to face him. He feels compelled to do so as well, to see what her face can tell him that her words can't quite.

“No? What was the other ang-”

Barry doesn't get to finish his sentence. He doesn't get to hear the answer because the answer _isn't_ in words. As he feels her hand on his cheek turning his face, he finds out very shortly the angle is a literal one. Cait is kissing him. _Cait is kissing him,_ and his heart is hammering in his chest and it takes him more than a few seconds to react. When he does, he tries not to pour too much passion into it, still afraid of scaring her off, but she's the one pulling him closer, her lips sliding hungrily over his. She bites down slightly on his bottom lip, making him moan, and both of them end up lost to sensation, oblivious to the exasperated looks passers-by are giving them. Eventually, they stop and as he lets go of Cait he shivers with the loss of her warmth.

“I hate to say this, but we're gonna get cold. We should head back inside.“

“Inside would be good,” she replies, but she doesn't seem done saying what she wants to say, and he spies a hint of deviousness in how she hesitates, “But that's not to say inside has to be inside the bar.”

“Are you actually gonna say 'your place or mine'? I didn't think people really said that.”

“Oh no, no way. Definitely your place.”

He gapes a little, surprised at how forward she is, how onboard she is right off the bat. Then he remembers how long this has been brewing for and it's no wonder she doesn't want to waste time tiptoeing around what she wants. Still, it's so bizarre compared to how he'd dreamt this moment would be, but so much better, because those were idle dreams and this is really her, really into him.

“My place has a Wells, remember? I'm not bringing you back there without setting some ground rules. With him, I mean.”

“So, to mine?” he asks, his heart skipping a beat at her sly grin in response.

“Yep, to yours,” she confirms, grin returning and spreading wider after that.

“For real?” he asks softly, pulling her in closer again. His heartbeat has slowed down but his head still feels like it's off in the clouds.

“For real, Mr. Allen. Very, very real.” She's biting her lip, looking to the side, apologetic, “I'm sorry it took me so long. I hope it was worth the wait.” She has a small smile as she turns back to him, hopeful and yet tinged with sadness - laced with doubt, he realizes.

“Cait,” he says tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, amazed that he can do that now, that she wants to have him close like this, “I have no doubt whatsoever that you were worth the wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fic is rebloggable on tumblr [here](https://purpleyin.tumblr.com/post/183708662395/purpleyin-dctv-moodboards-snowbarryt).


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